A Cure for Boredom
by Strazza
Summary: One-shot inspired by Omegle role-play. Sherlock gets bored and ends up shopping, while texting John the whole time. Results are very colorful and may or may not end with our Baker St boys getting VERY drunk.. Who knew buying milk would prove so difficult?


**A/N: Hello! So this is just a random drabble that is inspired by an awesome Omegle roleplay I had the other day. It's pretty much a cut and paste, just with added descriptions for the texting half of the story. Apologies if it's terrible but…come on. If you had an Omegle conversation like this you'd wanna post it too! XD**

**Oh, and this is my first one-shot as well. So be nice! **

**Disclaimer: If I owned it, then I would own Sherlock and John. And you would know if I owned Sherlock and John. Because the show would be _very _different...**

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******A CURE FOR BOREDOM:**

_BORED –SH_

John sighed at the sound of his buzzing phone. It was the eighth time it'd had gone off in the past half an hour. Giving up he checked the message and sighed again. Scrolling through the other seven he confirmed that each message was of the same declaration by a certain consulting detective. He quickly typed a reply.

_God Sherlock, not again. –JW_

Sherlock groaned audibly from the other room. One would question why he didn't just go downstairs and talk to his flatmate in person, but if he was completely honest with himself it would be said that Mycroft wasn't the only Holmes who was lazy. But as it was, Sherlock was not honest with himself, just very bored. He texted quickly back.

_John, fetch me my revolver. –SH_

John smiled slightly, pleased with himself that he'd managed to find a hiding place for the weapon that the residing genius could not discover.

_And why would I do that? –JW_

The reply was instantaneous, as if the detective had already typed it out, expecting the answer beforehand. (Which he probably did the ingenious git.)

_Because I'm BORED and otherwise I might end up joining the criminal masses. And with my intellectual prowess the idiots at Scotland Yard wouldn't stand a chance –SH_

Sherlock nearly added 'and I'd murder Anderson', but refrained. John may have taken him seriously. Heck, _he _might have taken himself seriously. John on the other hand just frowned at the text. It had only been a matter of hours since their last case!

_Well if you're that bored get off your arse and fetch us some milk –JW_

It was a vain hope, but he could still say he tried.

_Mrs Hudson just bought us some. –SH_

Sherlock remembered that clearly, at the same point of time the landlady (not your housekeeper!) had thrown out his latest experiment – the potency of acid from within the human stomach after death. It had taken much persuasion from Molly to get hold of a human stomach, and he did not appreciate having it thrown out. Down the hall, John rolled his eyes at the typical 'Sherlock' reply.

_She bought us milk 3 days ago, and only yesterday did I find a human toe. That milk is NOT safe to drink, thanks to you –JW_

Wait, 3 days ago? That couldn't be right; it had to have been yesterday at least! Oh wait, he did start another experiment yesterday, on the fungal growth beneath toenails. He really hoped John didn't throw that experiment out either.

_Was that really 3 days ago? –SH_

John laughed out loud. Sherlock's concept of time never ceased to amaze him. The man could go hours without realizing that even a minute had passed, and could go days before realizing that it wasn't Thursday any more.

_Yes that was 3 days ago –JW_

Sherlock frowned and flicked through his mental catalogue of all previous experiments. He remembered preforming an experiment on the length of expiry of milk… Thinking back he recalled with triumph the amount of time it took for milk to go off.

_Milk doesn't go off in 3 days –SH_

John had barely read the text when another one came through.

_I did an experiment; it takes precisely 5.7 days –SH_

The doctor's brow crinkled in amusement. He felt positively gleeful to be able to prove the possibly smartest man in England (or perhaps even the world) wrong. Because the milk DID go off!

_Exactly, you did an experiment. Now go get us some drinkable milk! –SH_

Sherlock pouted. Of course… the added variable of the dairy product being exposed for an extended period of time to a rotting organ would have sped up the curdling process! With hurt pride he monotonously texted out his reply. In the genius' mind, a mistake such as that could not go unpunished. And what greater punishment is there than having to fetch milk?

_Fine –SH_

John could have jumped up and down in joy over his minor victory.

(O_o)

Sherlock stood in despair in the middle of the aisle at Tesco's. Before him was row after row of different brands, flavours and types of milk. How could there possibly be so many variants of one simple product that was produced by a cow? There was Full Cream, Whole, Skimmed, Semi-Skimmed, Reduced Fat, Low Fat, No Fat, 1% Fat, Organic, Flavoured, Soy, Rice, Lactose-Reduced, Lactose-Free, Long-Life, UHT, Evaporated, Condensed… The list went on!

_John, what type of milk? There are dozens! –SH_

The good doctor back home chuckled at the detective's plight.

_Full Cream –JW_

Sherlock grabbed the Full Cream milk and frowned, glancing back and forth between it, and the Low to No fat range.

_But that one's not good for you John, you'll get fat like Mycroft –SH_

John frowned and self-consciously sucked his tummy in. As if predicting that exact action the next text arrived.

_Is that why you wear those ridiculously large jumpers? To hide belly fat? –SH_

Okay, THAT was uncalled for! What was wrong with his jumpers? And so what if he had gone slightly soft around to middle since he returned from the army? Nevertheless John mentally reminded himself to sign up to the gym around the corner.

_I'm not hiding belly fat, I just like woollen jumpers! –JW_

Sherlock rolled his eyes and in a childish fit replaced the Whole Cream in his hands with 1%. John was denying it he knew. And he was probably standing in front of the bathroom mirror at that very moment trying to determine how much weight he'd gained in the past few months. Sherlock frowned at himself as he spent perhaps a bit too long picturing the image of his friend standing shirtless in front of a mirror, examining his army-hardened body, running his hands down his… Ahem! Shaking the image from his mind (yet, he noted, not deleting it) he sent another text.

_They're horrible. If you'd like I can have my tailor fit out some nice suits for you. –SH_

Aha! John silently cheered. I knew it! I knew those bloody suits of his couldn't fit so snugly without having a tailor! It was completely impossible that those tight suits could fit so well over the detective's lean body and those silk shirts pulled so taunt over his chest that the buttons nearly burst, without having being measured perfectly. Yet John couldn't imagine Sherlock standing in a tailor's patiently, with someone wrapping a tape measure around his bare white chest… What! John caught himself out at the thought. Imagining your flatmate and best friend shirtless was more than A Bit Not Good.

_You have a tailor? I'll stick to my woollen jumpers and full cream milk, thanks. –JW_

Sherlock sighed and regretfully replaced the 1% with Full Cream. Antagonising his friend might lead to his latest experiment being thrown out in punishment. He tried to keep thought of John in a suit away from his mind as he trudged towards the counter. Though secretly, he actually did like John in his jumpers, especially the beige one that made him look so soft and cuddly… The thought was cut short when he saw the display behind the counter. Mentally he groaned. Before him sat row after dazzling row of packets of cigarettes. His fingers began twitching, already anticipating the feeling of a cigarette between his right index and middle finger. As completely improbable as it sounded, Sherlock could almost _feel _the packets staring down at him.

_John I'm standing at the counter and the cigarettes are staring at me –SH_

Back at 221B John could have smacked his head against the wall repeatedly. Now he knew why it was a bad idea for Sherlock to go to the shops – because swearing to go cold turkey wasn't enough to fight against the highly addictive personality that was Sherlock Holmes. Almost to confirm his thoughts a send text appeared.

_They want me to buy them –SH_

John really did start banging his head against the wall. Then deciding that when you live with a genius, you don't really have the brain cells to spare, he pulled away and replied.

_Sherlock …–JW _

He paused, and then typed out a new text. Sending the text he prayed that Sherlock was strong-willed enough not to give in to temptation.

"_They" don't want you to do anything –JW _

Sherlock barely glanced at the text as he stared longingly at the packets of cigarettes. Without even looking at his phone he typed out with the skill of someone who had completely memorised their keyboard.

_Except buy them and smoke them, letting those wonderful chemicals release into my brain. Speeding up my thinking process, clearing my mind and making me VERY not bored... -SH_

"Oh god" John moaned, his head in his hands. He never admitted it out loud, but he got more worried than flatmate really should when Sherlock went through a 'Danger Day'. He began typing out a plea for Sherlock to just come home and forget the bloody milk, and then stopped. Rereading it, he decided it sounded too desperate and typed out a new reply that was decidedly more appropriate.

_And then I'm going to have to deal with yet another sleepless Sherlock whom insists I make him tea at 3am -JW_

Sherlock smirked slightly in memory. That same scenario had occurred a few months back, when he had broken the 'cold turkey' rule again. He stood staring at the cigarette packets for a few more moments before the store assistant behind the counter cleared his throat to grab his attention.

"Excuse me, what?" The words left distaste in his mouth. He hated asking people to repeat themselves.

"I said, would you like to buy a pack of cigs?" The assistant replied. Sherlock observed him. _Young, 17 years of age - first job. Greasy hair and skin, poorly shaved, excessive amounts of pimples –poor hygiene, single. Twitching left hand – left handed, needs -no desperate for- a cigarette. Notices and clenches fist – parents don't know, trying and failing to quit. Looking eagerly- wants me to purchase cigarettes, fingering back pocket – ready to pull out wallet, preparing to ask if I could by some for him, offering to pay back. _

"No thank you. I'm quitting, much like yourself. Though, you're not doing so well. I doubt your parents, or your boss for that matter, would be happy about you asking customers to buy cigarettes for you." Sherlock replied a single eyebrow raised. The teenager stared at him, mouth agape. But instead of getting angry, like Sherlock assumed he would, he laughed.

"Blimey, that's clever innit?" Sherlock grit his teeth at the poor grammar, but said nothing. The teen scanned the milk. "Anythin' else sir?" He asked. Sherlock was about to say no, but changed his mind.

"Actually, do you have anything I could use as a substitute? As I said, I am trying to quit smoking and I need another supplement in its place."

The assistance's eyes lit up. "Course sir! We have nicotine patches if you want those."

"No, no. That won't due, I already have those. I need something stronger."

"Well… you could always go for this. Though I'm sure you already have tried that." The assistant led the detective to a particular section of the store. Sherlock frowned slightly.

"Would that work?" The assistant assured him it did, secretly rejoicing that he'd managed to get an idiot (or sorts) for a customer.

"So, would you like to buy some?"

"I might as well."

(O_o)

John was nearly tugging his hair out of its roots and about to march down to Tesco's himself when he finally received a reply.

_Don't worry John, I have purchased another item that the store assistant has assured me is a suitable substitute. -SH_

Oh dear god. John prayed fervently it wasn't drugs. Another text arrived.

_And apparently gives no trouble in sleeping, and is in fact a depressant –SH_

Oh, okay then. So at least he'll be sleeping! He thought sarcastically. John texted frantically back.

_Which is? –JW_

Sherlock conferred with the shop assistant. Who rolled his eyes at his customer's obliviousness and answered.

_I think the term the young, pimply, adolescent male used was 'booze' -SH_

John collapsed onto the couch in relief.

_If you're stocking up on alcohol you better bring some for me as well –JW_

Because after my panic attack I'm going to need it! John thought dryly. Sherlock however just stared once more at the shelves of alcohol. _Shelves! _There were entire _shelves _of choice! A whole section of the store!

_There is an even larger selection of alcoholic goods than milk, what type would you prefer? –SH_

Looking back onto the message he had just sent he scowled at how _ordinary _it sounded. He shot off another text.

_Ugh, I sound so…domestic –SH_

John however smiled. He happened to like it when Sherlock acted more domestic and therefore normal. But yet only Sherlock could think that a text message structured to sound like he'd been raised by royalty (although, for all the doctor knew he may have) sounded 'domestic'.

_I like it when you talk about domestic things. It makes you seem more human -JW_

Sherlock frowned in confusion, seeming to forget the store assistant whom was busy stockpiling his trolley with glee, he texted swiftly a reply.

_And is that, good? –SH_

John's face broke into a huge grin. He was finally starting to get to the real Sherlock, the one who hid beneath his sociopathic exterior.

_Very Good –JW_

Then,

_Now hurry up and bring the damn alcohol –JW_

He may be a romantic at heart, but don't think for a second that Captain Dr John H Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers was going to have a 'Deep and Meaningful' conversation with his flatmate via SMS.

Sherlock snorted at the reply. He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned to the shop assistant. (Who had finished filling a trolley full of all different types of alcohol and was now waiting patiently with a greedy grin on his face.)

"I have to admit, I haven't bought much alcohol in my lifetime, let alone drunk it." Sherlock admitted. The assistance's grin grew bigger.

"Oh that's fine sir, just fine!"

Sherlock glanced down at the bursting trolley. "So, would that be enough?"

The assistant wondered what insanely good deed he'd done to deserve such a miracle as this. No doubt he'd get a raise after serving this idiot! "I think so sir. Just enough." He said innocently, silently counting in his head how much the vintage wines he'd snuck inside the trolley cost.

(O_o)

Sherlock staggered outside Baker St, having just pulled out the last of the shopping bags from a cab. Even though Tesco was just around the corner, he'd had to hail one, unable to carry the shopping home himself. He whipped out his phone and shot off a text, hoping John might come down and helping him with the bags. That was the LAST time he'd ever go grocery shopping again…

_I have acquired the assistance of the adolescent male, whom was very eager to help me choose the right alcoholic beverages. I'm not sure, is this enough? I haven't participated in drinking since University –SH_

Upon receiving the text John jogged down the 17 steps of 221b and stopped at the doorway, letting out a low whistle. He had to restrain himself from bursting out laughing at the sight of Sherlock standing in the darkening street, surrounded by flimsy plastic shopping bags filled with definitely _way _to much alcohol. Yet from the look on his friends face, instead of informing him of the fact that he'd most likely been scammed, he silently resigned to do all the shopping from now on and helped Sherlock bring up the 'groceries'.

When all of the bags had been brought up and deposited on the table, (and the single carton of milk placed in the fridge), Sherlock pulled out a bottle of red wine and stared at it with slight confusion, as if not knowing what on earth to do with it. John couldn't hold his tongue any more.

"Oh. Wow, that... is a lot. This is going to be an eventful night" He said, walking to take a bottle of red wine off Sherlock

"How so?" Sherlock replied, pulling out two bottles of vodka. "I wasn't sure what you -or I- liked so I got a bit of everything." He didn't mention the help he'd received, from what he'd deduced from John's face he suspected treachery on the assistant's part. John however popped open the bottle of wine and took a long drink, then passed it to Sherlock "Here, let's start with the wine first. I think vodka will be a bit too strong for you."

Sherlock took a careful sip and his eyes widened. He grunted appreciatively. "That is... very nice!" He then started to drink the rest of the bottle at an alarming pace, clearly not knowing of the consequences of drinking too much alcohol.

"Woah, Sherlock, pace yourself" John moved to take the bottle off the taller man and took a drink, seating himself on the double couch.

Sherlock snatched it back, and curled around his bottle possessively, grabbing another two at the same time. "No Jawn, ish mine! I bought 'em!" He slurred. Due to being a very lightweight when it came to drinking, he was already slightly inebriated.

"Oh my god, he's tipsy already" John muttered to himself. He got up and led Sherlock to sit on the couch beside him. He then snatched the open bottle back out of his friend's arms and drained the contents into his mouth.

Sherlock stared in horror as John drained his precious bottle. "NOOO!" He cried. John rolled his eyes and opened another bottle for him. Grinning like a child Sherlock tipped the second bottle into his mouth.

John took another wine bottle out of the bag and opened it, drinking half the bottle in one go. John moved back to the couch and felt the effects kicking in. "This is more like it" He thought to himself. He sat down closer than he probably should next to Sherlock and almost laughed at the now three empty bottles surrounding his friend. "Sherlock we should... *hic* we should slow down..."

"Jaaaawwwwwwnnn! Why hav'nt we d'ne dis beforeee?" Sherlock slurred happily, he had now moved on to cans of beer. Sherlock's head thunked down onto John's shoulder as he began to babble cheerfully, letting out more emotion than he'd ever had before. "Jawn, yor my BESHTEST Fwend EVA!" He shouted, swinging an empty bottle about, before chucking it in the general direction of the skull.

John emptied the contents of his wine bottle and watched Sherlock make a mess of their apartment. John knew he should stop his friend because they would just have to clean up in the morning but he couldn't stop staring as a drop of beer had escaped Sherlock's mouth and started to roll down his cheek. John wondered what that drop of beer would taste like, would it taste any different since it came out of Sherlock's mouth? John lent in closer and licked the drop of beer clean off Sherlock's face. Sherlock giggled, that tickled! Deciding he rather liked the feeling he sloshed more beer onto his face, completely soiling his shirt in the process.

"Oh for God's sake Sherrrly" John moved in closer again, licking Sherlock's collar bone, neck and jaw

Moving from Sherlock's jaw, John planted small teasing kisses on his lips.

Sherlock froze for a second, and then relaxed. "Mmmmm" He groaned. He dropped the bottles he was holding and grabbed two fistfuls of John's jumper. "Bout bef're, when I shed I d'dn like yer jump'r Jawn. I lieeed... I fink ish adorableee, and I reeallly l'ke it on oo!"

"Well you better start liking itoffmeassswelll..." John slurred, as he pulled his jumper off. "Annnnnd yoouuu Mr Holmes had better take off yooour jacket as well."

"Hhmmm... my shrt is rathr drtyy, i betrr take thad off too." Sherlock agreed.

"Mhm, you betterr..." John pulled Sherlock's shirt up to his chest, commanding him to lift his arms.

Sherlock complied, the action causing him to stumble and fall back onto the couch pulling John down with him. The two flatmates stared at each other, not really aware of their awkward positioning. "Why hellooooo…" Sherlock spoke upwards to the good doctor with a smile.

"Shuuuuuuuush" John replied, cutting Sherlock's words off by putting his mouth against his

Sherlock kissed back with earnest, all hesitations drained away with copious amounts of alcohol. This was what he wanted, needed. With John he felt whole again, and he'd never felt happier than with John's beautifully soft lips pressed up against his own. He groaned in pleasure, this was an entirely new experience to him, his first time being drunk, his first kiss, his first real show of emotion... And it felt good. The couple continued kissing hungrily, perhaps not as slowly and sweetly as either would have preferred if they were less drunk. They continued to plant sloppy kisses on one another, John working his way downwards Sherlock's perfect alabaster chest when...

"Sherlock, are you home? There's a new case that the team had troub-" Footsteps were heard by the couple, but Lestrade had already reached the doorway and stopped what he was saying.

(O_o)

Now Lestrade had more than his fair share of awkward run in's. He had worked with the force for over 30 years, he got around. In fact, he'd lost count over how many times he'd walked into an elevator only to see Anderson and Donavon having a go at it. But Greg felt it safe to say that the scene he walked into was by far the most awkward. He was aware of the running pool over whether John and Sherlock were actually shagging (and other aspects such as who was on top etc...) yet he'd never _fully_ believed it. But after walking into the boys sitting room (and upon first glance thinking there had been a break in and was about to call for back up) only to see his two clearly drunk friends rutting against one another and pressing slobbering loving kissing on one another (and dare he say, John about to give Sherlock a blowjob of the lifetime the lucky git) he feared the image would forever be burned into his retinas. Giving out an unmanly squeak he rushed back down the stairs and out the doors, case completely forgotten. Needless to say, Sherlock wasn't the only Holmes brother to be getting lucky that night.

(O_o)

Sherlock and John looked drunkenly towards the now-empty doorway and burst out laughing. The laughter then turned into violent hiccups before quieting back down to giggles. "THAT ish the mosht ridikulus thing I'v evr sheen!" John slurred between giggles.

"Hish faacceee!' Sherlock cried, and they both dissolved into more fits of laughter. And at the exact same moment, both extremely intoxicated doctor and consulting detective passed out atop one another, both with major hangovers to look forward to in the morning.

But if there is one thing for sure; Sherlock had just found a cure for his boredom.

**THE END**

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**A/N: Okay, so basically that was the best Omegle conversation I've ever had. The first half I pretty much fully edited seeing as in the conversation it consisted of just the text messages, but the second half (without the text messages) I pretty much left completely alone, because that's what was on the conversation. All the 'Sherlock' texts and interactions was me and the last few paragraphs (cos I think at that point the other person fell asleep lol). I'd post the link as well, but… I lost it. :/**

**Tell me what you think guys! :D**


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